Leave Your Life and Ride
by Ivory Novelist
Summary: After Dean's badly hurt in a confrontation with Abbadon, Sam has a talk with his brother about their future. Dean gets Castiel involved. Spoilers through Season 9. Set during S9 in the future. Asexual!Castiel. Aromantic!Dean. Strong nonsexual/nonromantic relationships between the boys. Hurt!Dean. Comforting!Sam.


AN: This fic is about a week late for **Asexual Awareness Week 2013, **but I wanted to finish it and post it anyway.

Asexual!Castiel, Aromantic!Dean, strong nonsexual/nonromantic love/friendship.

Set sometime during Season 9.

Title taken from the song "Ride" by the Cary Brothers.

* * *

Leave Your Life and Ride

* * *

By the time Sam and Cas find him, Abbadon's worked Dean over ugly. He's curled up on his left side, shirtless and unconscious. His face is bloody and swollen, and his torso is covered in bruises, shallow lacerations, and abrasions. He doesn't look like he's been tortured, only beaten up with hands and feet, maybe thrown around the room. Sam and Cas only lost him for about six hours, but that was more than enough time for Abbadon to hurt Dean.

Castiel helps Sam pull Dean up on his feet, and Sam holds onto his brother tight, walking him to the car as Castiel follows with his gun drawn and his eyes darting across their surroundings. Sam covered the backseat in a clean blanket before he and Cas set out on their search for Dean, and he takes a few minutes to get his brother in the car and arranged across the seat. He covers Dean with his own jacket, not giving a damn if his brother stains it with blood, and brushes his thumb across the top of Dean's forehead before getting into the driver's seat.

Dean's always been the faster driver, but Sam knows how to haul ass when it's necessary. As soon he gets on the two-lane blue highway back to civilization, he's flying at ninety without looking back.

* * *

Sam takes Dean to the Bat Cave because he wants to assess his brother's condition himself, and it's still tough to get over the "hospitals are a last resort" mentality that he and Dean grew up assimilating. Lebanon's a small town, and the clinic is only a few minutes from the bunker, if Dean needs it.

Dean starts to regain consciousness as Sam gets him inside, arms wrapped around Dean's torso.

"Sam?" he says in a faint whisper.

"I've got you, Dean," Sam says. "We're home. You're going to be okay."

Sam and Castiel carefully take Dean down the stairs into the bunker and all the way to Dean's room, where Sam lays him down on the bed. Kevin's lingering in the doorway, watching the three men in apprehensive silence.

"Somebody get me the medical kit," Sam says.

And Kevin goes.

"He needs to be cleaned up," says Cas, looking at Dean with that crease of worry in his brow. "I'll bring you a wet towel."

"Make sure the water's warm," Sam tells him, sitting on the bed next to Dean's thigh.

Castiel leaves the room, just as Kevin returns with the red medical kit that looks more like a big toolbox. Sam started collecting medical supplies whenever and wherever he could buy them from drugstores, steal them from hospitals or pharmacies, or take them from the homes of dead victims on hunts. The kit has all of the basics: Band-Aids in various sizes, rolls of cloth bandage, anti-biotic ointment, tweezers, rubbing alcohol, anti-itch cream, antiseptic wipes, individually packaged latex gloves, an instant cold compress, scissors, and a thermometer. There's also morphine syringes, a couple bottles of prescription pain killers, sedatives, a stethoscope, a blood pressure cuff, two shots of adrenaline and a medical flashlight.

Sam flips open the lid on the box and pulls out the small, skinny flashlight. He shines it into both of Dean's eyes. "Pupils are responsive," he says to Kevin, who's standing on the other side of the bed like a nervous kid and watching the brothers.

Sam trades the flashlight for the stethoscope, puts it on and presses the medallion to the center of Dean's chest. The sound of his brother's heartbeat, loud and strong, sends a wave of relief through Sam's whole body. He moves the medallion to Dean's left breast, then his right, and takes off the stethoscope as Castiel comes back into the room.

"His pulse sounds normal," Sam says.

"Good," says Cas, offering Sam a damp, folded up towel. He stands back, next to Kevin, and allows Sam to decide whether or not he wants help cleaning Dean.

Sam starts to gently wipe his brother's face with the towel, dried blood fading gradually from Dean's skin. The older Winchester's left eye is black and swollen, his lower lip split wide open with a gash that runs onto his chin, his left cheekbone cut and bruised, the right side of his jaw purple, two cuts slashed through his right eyebrow, his nose swollen.

His eyelids flutter as he swallows and takes a breath. "Sam," he says, so quiet that his brother can barely hear him.

"Here, Dean," says Sam, wiping at Dean's hairline with a clean part of the towel. "We're all here. We're going to take care of you."

"Water," Kevin says. "He needs water."

The prophet hurries out of the room again.

Sam rolls the towel to use the clean side and strokes it over Dean's neck, now seeing the bruises that look like finger-shaped or hand-shaped. Abbadon—or one of her lackeys—choked Dean.

"Sam," says Castiel. "What can I do?"

"Right now, you can bring me more wet towels," Sam says. "And tell Kevin I need a couple bags of ice."

Cas nods and leaves.

Sam stops using the dirty towel and pauses to look at his brother. With a clean face and neck, Dean looks better but still pretty banged up.

"Dean," he says, his voice strained with remorse and his eyes puppy dog sad. "I'm sorry."

Last night, they were staying at a motel in Nebraska, a few hours north of Lebanon. It was a sleep stop on the way home from a demon hunt in Indiana. They could've kept driving and made it to the bunker late—Dean's done longer drives into the wee hours of the morning before—but ever since the botched third trial and Sam's recovery, the brothers have been making unnecessary motel stays once or twice a month, just to have some down time in private. Kevin and Cas are pretty much living in the Bat Cave with them until further notice, and as much as Sam and Dean like having them around, they miss having the place all to themselves.

They woke up early today. Dean wanted coffee from the mini-mart a couple blocks over, and Sam decided to stay behind to check out of the room and pack the car. Abbadon must've jumped Dean as he was walking to the mini-mart; when a half hour went by, Sam called his brother and got voicemail. He knew something was wrong but didn't know where to look or how dangerous the situation would be, so he sped across state lines into Kansas, picked up Castiel from the bunker, and tracked Dean's cell phone to a forested area an hour's drive northeast. It took them two hours to find the abandoned house where Abbadon had left Dean.

Kevin reappears with a glass of water and two plastic bags of ice cubes from the extra freezer. Sam tells him to put the ice on the bed and takes the glass from him. The younger Winchester lifts Dean's head up off the pillow, hand cradling the back of Dean's skull, and tips the glass carefully against Dean's lips.

"Drink, Dean," Sam says.

A little bit of water rolls out of the right corner of Dean's mouth, before he cracks his eyes open and starts to swallow.

"Good."

Sam gives the glass back to Kevin, who puts it on the shelf above Dean's bed.

"Sam," Kevin says, hesitance in his voice. "What happened?"

"Abbadon," says Sam, lowering Dean's head onto the pillow.

"Are you sure?"

"I smelled sulfur, where we found him. That rules out angels. And if it were something else supernatural that grabbed him, he would have different injuries…. His shirts and his jacket were ripped off of him but they were still whole, not shredded."

"If Abbadon had him…. why is he still alive?" Kevin asks.

"I don't know," Sam says. He knew immediately, when Dean didn't come back to the motel in Nebraska, that Abbadon had abducted his brother. The Winchester brothers have a sixth sense about each other, a fraternal version of a common maternal instinct. Until he laid eyes on Dean in that broke down house, Sam's fear was ramped up full throttle because Abbadon's made it clear on more than one occasion that she ultimately plans to kill him and Dean and keep their souls in Hell as her eternal playthings. Maybe ditch her retro meat suit and take Dean's body for a spin.

Castiel brings more damp, white towels and sits on the empty side of the bed. He and Sam share a look, an uncertain request for permission and the permission granted. Sam gives him back one of the towels, and the two men begin to clean Dean's chest and arms. The sticky, dried blood and dirt and grime clear from Dean's skin, inch by inch, leaving behind the bruises and abrasions. Castiel is far gentler than Sam, unnecessarily gentle, as if he's afraid of hurting Dean or of Sam's disapproval. Sam focuses quietly on Dean's body, eyes tracking over the damage and calculating how long Dean will take to heal.

When they've finished with Dean's front, Sam says his brother's name and warns him that they're going to push him onto his side for a minute, before coaxing Dean onto his right side to give Sam access to Dean's back. The younger Winchester uses up the remaining clean areas of his towel, wiping down Dean's back from the nape of his neck to the waistband of his jeans, pretending not to notice Castiel's hand on Dean's knee and the ex-angel's blue eyes watching Dean's face with compassion.

Dean's back is scraped up and bruised but better looking than his chest. When he's less sore and feeling closer to normal, Sam will give him a massage or two. Dean's back needs the relief on a good day, and this beating's going to stay in his muscles for a while yet.

Sam turns his head toward the opposite side of the room and catches Kevin watching him and Cas from where he's leaning against the doorjamb, as if the kid wants to come in and be included but knows he should leave. He's got a look on his face that Sam can't interpret, and Sam says, "What?"

Kevin shakes his head. "Nothing."

Following Sam's instruction, Castiel covers Dean's torso in one of the spare blankets stored in Dean's trunk and applies the two plastic bags of ice to his chest and belly. The cold wakes Dean up more than he's been since they rescued him, and he moans a little. Sam squeezes Dean's wrist, then rubs the inside of it with his thumb.

"Shouldn't we take him to a hospital?" Castiel says. "Just to be sure there isn't anything seriously wrong with him?"

"He hates hospitals," says Sam, looking at Dean. "I want to wait until he's talking to find out what he thinks he needs. I'm pretty sure he's not in immediate danger."

Sam dumps the dirty towels in the bucket on the floor near his foot, snaps on a new pair of latex gloves, and coats the open cuts and scrapes on Dean's face with antibacterial ointment. Dean doesn't react to his touch, breathing slow and shallow with the rhythm of sleep.

"Why is he still unconscious?" Castiel asks.

"He's been roughed up pretty bad," says Sam. "He's drained. His body needs rest."

"What if he has broken bones?" says Kevin. "Or sprains?"

"I'm going to check in a minute."

Sam unbuckles Dean's belt, unbuttons and unzips his jeans, and starts to pull them down his brother's legs, pausing to take the boots off Dean's feet when he reaches Dean's ankles. Kevin and Cas both avert their eyes as Sam does this, as if they know Dean wouldn't want them to look or they're intruding too far on a private interaction between the brothers. Sam doesn't notice, dropping Dean's jeans on top of the boots and peeling Dean's socks off of his feet.

Dean's legs are covered in fine, dark blonde hair and only a few bruises. Sam loops his hands around Dean's ankles and slowly moves up his brother's legs, applying just enough pressure to get a rise if he hits a painful spot. Dean's knees are scraped up, pink but not bloody. He was kneeling on them for some part of the abuse. Sam touches them lightly, not squeezing, pressing his fingertips into the softer skin behind the knees.

Dean has a misshapen bruise three inches long and an inch wide on the front of his right thigh, so dark purple it's almost black. Sam can't imagine where it came from. He presses his fingers into that thigh, then the other one, around their circumferences, into the bare skin and Dean's cotton boxer briefs. Dean doesn't cry out.

"He's good below the waist," Sam says.

He notices a slight twitch in Dean's bottom lip. His big brother's cold.

Sam takes Dean's left hand in both of his own and starts to feel out the wrist, then moves up Dean's arm to his shoulder, which he prods with his fingertips in search of muscle strain or dislocation that he overlooked. He can't feel anything wrong. He traces over Dean's left collarbone with his thumb, but Dean makes a small, muffled sound that doesn't indicate pain to Sam.

He stands up and goes around the foot of the bed, sitting next to Castiel on the empty side to examine Dean's right arm. He returns to Dean's side of the bed and stands over his brother, feeling up Dean's sides with his fingers.

Sam looks at Cas, glances at Kevin, and says, "I think he's in the clear. No broken bones, as far as I can tell."

Dean's lower lip quivers as the older Winchester sucks in a hissing breath.

Sam strokes the top of his brother's head, cards his fingers through Dean's hair. "He's gonna be fine," he says, looking at Dean's face. "We're going to take good care of him."

* * *

Dean sleeps for a few hours after Sam and Cas remove the ice bags and tuck him in. When he wakes up, Sam's sitting at his bedside—no book or newspaper, not even his cell phone—just watching him with serious eyes. Dean asks for water, and Sam feeds him over the counter pain killers when he declines the heavier stuff. Sam asks him if anything feels broken or sprained. Dean shakes his head. Sam checks him again for signs of a concussion and asks Dean to tell him if he feels light-headed, nauseated, or if he gets an intense headache.

"Think you can eat something?" Sam says.

"Not hungry," says Dean, better eye barely open and the black one swollen shut.

Sam leans back in his chair and stares at Dean. He has no intention of leaving his brother; Dean needs twenty-four hour supervision until Sam's sure that no complications will arise.

"Is everyone okay?" Dean asks, after swallowing.

"Yeah," says Sam. "You were alone when we found you."

"Good."

Sam hesitates a moment. "Abbadon?"

"Yeah."

They two brothers are silent for a while, Dean lying in bed breathing and Sam watching him.

Kevin comes into the room with the heating pad that Sam asked him to prepare, and Dean plays asleep until Kevin leaves again. Sam pulls down the sheet and the blanket drawn up to Dean's chin and lays the heating pad on Dean's belly.

"Is that okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

Sam leans forward with one elbow on his knee and his other hand pressing the pad to Dean's belly. He wants the contact with his brother's body, wants Dean to be very aware of his presence right now. "I've been meaning to talk to you about something," he says quietly.

"That can't be good," says Dean, eyes still closed.

"I was going to wait until…. I don't know when. But I don't want to wait anymore."

"Spit it out, Sam. I'm tired."

Sam pauses for a moment, a serious expression on his face as he concentrates on his hand holding the heating pad to Dean's belly. What he's about to say, he's been thinking about for weeks, revising the words in his head whenever he stole glances at his brother in the Impala. "We've been doing really well with demon/angel damage control. We keep it up, we'll be demon-free in the near future, and the angels'll go back to heaven for good. We'll be back to garden variety ghosts and monsters."

Dean swallows and parts his lips, silent and unreadable.

"When we reach that point," Sam continues. "We have to decide what we want to do…. If we're going to keep hunting or quit. If we quit, we'll have to figure out what to do next."

"If this is your way of warning me that you're going to go your own way as soon as you can stop hunting, just cut to it," Dean says, voice gravelly and hollow. "I'm not surprised. I know it's coming. Having a normal life will make you happy. You deserve it."

Sam purses his lips, eyes stinging with the threat of tears because his big brother's lying in front of him, bruised and swollen and sore, telling him it's okay if Sam leaves him—and it's not okay. Sam knows that Dean means it when he says he wants what's best for his little brother. Sam believes that Dean will let him go if it's what Sam wants. But Sam leaving Dean will always break Dean's heart, and that's not okay. Not for Dean. Not for Sam.

"I'm trying to tell you that I want to stay," Sam says, voice thick with emotion. "Not in this business, not forever. But I want to stay…. with you."

Dean cracks his eyes open. He doesn't say a word.

"I don't know what our lives will look like after hunting. I don't even know if you want to quit or if you can quit. I don't know what I want to do with myself after I'm done. But I know that we're family. We're the only blood we got. You're my brother….. You're the most important person in my life, and I need you."

Sam stops, eyes fixed on the heating pad because he can't look at his brother's face right now without breaking down or losing his coherence.

Dean doesn't respond.

"We're not like other people," Sam says. "We never have been. I don't think we ever will be. I don't want to see you a few times a year, Dean. I don't want to walk away from you to have my own life. I want—I want you to be a part of it. The way you've always been. And I know you have to want it too. I'm not asking you for anything. I'm not asking you to quit hunting or be someone you're not. I'm just saying, I want to find a way for us to stick together and be happy at the same time."

When a minute goes by without a peep from Dean, Sam takes a chance and looks at his brother's face. Dean's eyes are closed and a wet tear track glistens along the left side of his nose and around his mouth and down his chin. The sight of him wrenches Sam's heart.

"Dean?" he says.

"Yeah," Dean says.

"You okay?"

Dean takes a second to answer. "'m good."

"Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yeah. I get it."

"Good," Sam says, after a moment.

The brothers are quiet together for a few minutes. Sam doesn't look at Dean out of respect for his older brother's privacy, but if Dean's weepy, Sam wants to comfort him. He just doesn't know how. He didn't mean to upset his brother, especially not when Dean's as physically hurt as he is. If Dean wasn't lying down, Sam would try to hug him.

"I don't know if wives or kids are in the cards for us….," Sam starts. "I don't know if I want that or need it, or if you do. But if either one of us is going to have that, I don't see why we can't share it with each other. We could be…. One big family, I guess?"

"Really?" says Dean.

Sam looks at his brother, hearing the slight wonder in Dean's voice. "Yeah. Really."

Dean lays his hand over Sam's on Dean's belly. The tenderness of the gesture catches Sam off guard, but after half a minute, Sam reaches up with his free hand and clasps Dean's.

* * *

Sam stays with Dean through the night, sleeping next to his brother and waking every few hours to check on him. Castiel takes over the watch some time in the late morning. Sam helps Dean get into a hot bath before dinnertime, where the older Winchester soaks for half an hour, then sits with his brother as Dean eats the small portion dinner that Sam cooked for him: warm apple sauce and peanut butter toast, for Dean's sensitive stomach.

Sam decides to give Dean space after the meal, on the condition that Dean calls for him if he needs anything.

Castiel wanders into Dean's bedroom an hour after Sam leaves, quiet and almost shy. "I wanted to see if you were all right," he says.

"I'm hanging in there," says Dean.

He's been listening to Robert Johnson on his record player since his brother left him alone. The album's on its last track.

"Sam hasn't mentioned hunting Abbadon down," Castiel says, standing a few feet away from the bed with his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. "But I'm sure he'll go after her, once you're better."

"He better not," says Dean. "The bitch let me live, but she might not show him the same mercy."

"I don't understand what she wants."

"Same things she's always wanted. Crowley's head on a plate. Hell on earth. Me and Sam out of her way."

"Then, why didn't she kill you?"

Dean doesn't answer for several seconds. "Strategy. I don't know. I don't care."

"I'm sorry for bringing it up," says Cas. "You need to rest."

He turns around and makes for the door.

"Cas?" Dean says.

Castiel pauses and looks over his shoulder, door already pulled open an inch and his hand on the knob. "Yes, Dean."

Dean's quiet for a few beats. "Will you stay with me? Just for a little while."

"Of course." Castiel shuts the door again and returns to Dean's bedside. He sits on the empty half of the bed, one foot still on the floor and his other leg folded up on the bed. "Is there anything I can do?"

Dean swallows, eyes closing and opening again. He works his mouth as if it's dry or he's having trouble breathing.

"Should I get Sam?" Cas says, an edge of worry in his voice. He still doesn't trust himself to take care of other people, and he's afraid of pissing off either Winchester if he screws up with the other.

"No," says Dean. "Just—just gimme a minute to get this out."

Castiel sits on the bed facing Dean, staring at the other man's face, completely uncertain. No matter what Dean or Sam tells him, Castiel can't help but fear that Dean's in pain, the kind of pain that requires medication. He can't imagine how Dean could not be in pain, considering the physical condition he's in.

"Sam said he wants to stay with me," Dean tells him. "Keep being a family. Forever."

Castiel smiles softly even though Dean isn't looking at him. "I'm glad to hear it," he says. "I think that's the best course of action to ensure your happiness. And Sam's."

Dean's quiet for a moment, then sucks in a breath and says, "I don't know what your plans are—for the future. If you're going to stay human or find a way to be an angel again. If you're thinking about staying human, I bet you've thought about…. what you'll do in the long-run. How you'll live. You're not much of a hunter."

"Yet," says Cas. "I am learning."

"You've probably thought about…. trying to live a normal life. If this angel fiasco gets put right, I wouldn't blame you. Seems like that would be safest option."

Castiel has no idea where Dean's going with this conversation, but he doesn't want to interrupt. He blinks in confusion at his best friend, waiting for the smoke to clear. The truth is, he hasn't thought about what he would do if the angels returned to heaven and he came face to face with Metatron again. Being human is the hardest thing he's ever done, and that's saying a lot, given his history. But not being an angel has been a relief, in some ways, too. Being a part of the Winchester family as their equal instead of their helper or their burden gratifies him more than he could've anticipated before he lost his grace.

He's just trying to take it one day at a time right now. He thought that was the Winchester way. So why is Dean bringing up a future that isn't guaranteed?

"You're free to do whatever you want," Dean says. "I mean it. If you want to be an angel again and go back to heaven, I won't try to stop you. If you want to stay human, settle down with a wife and a normal job—go for it. You don't owe me anything. I just want to put another option on the table."

Dean moves his hand over the blanket and curls his fingertips into Castiel's pant leg. He swallows, opens his mouth like he needs air, closes his eyes and opens them again to look at Cas.

"I don't know where Sam and I will go from here…. But if you want to stay…. there'll always be a place for you in this family. However you want to be in it."

Castiel stares at Dean, stunned, his stomach clenching and his throat closing. He glances down at Dean's hand—knuckles red and raw—on his pant leg. He doesn't know what to say. He thinks he understands what Dean's saying, but the magnitude of it causes him to second guess himself. "Dean…." he says. "Are you…. offering me a permanent home?"

"I don't know what home's going to look like for me and Sam, after he quits hunting, but…. yeah. I guess I am."

Castiel swallows and tries to sort out what he's feeling. Without thinking of the likely rejection, he takes Dean's hand in his.

Dean doesn't recoil.

"Thank you," says Cas, looking right into Dean's eyes. "And yes."

"Yes?" Dean says.

"Yes, I'll stay. If Sam will accept me."

"Sam accepts you."

The two men continue to grasp each other's hand as a minute of silence passes.

"I haven't thought about the future," Castiel says, taking his hand out of Dean's. "My future. I'm surprised you have."

"I wasn't thinking about it," says Dean. "Until Sam brought it up."

"Dean. I'm touched that you want me to be a part of your family in the long term. But I don't understand why."

"Why?"

Cas nods. "You and Sam are…. There aren't really words for what you are to each other. What you are together. I know we're friends, I guess I just…. don't understand why you would want me in the middle of a future you and your brother are going to share."

"Because you're family," says Dean, as if it's the simplest, most obvious thing in the world. "You're my family, too, Cas. You won't get in the way of me and my brother, if that's what you're thinking."

"Friends don't usually become so involved, if my observations of human life have been accurate," Castiel says.

"Brothers don't usually live together and build a combined family either. But Sam and I are going to try. Case you haven't noticed, we don't do things the usual way."

Castiel smiles. "I've noticed."

"You are my friend" says Dean. "One of my best friends. But you're more than that, too. I'm not calling you family for nothing."

The two men are quiet for a stretch. Not a sound in the bunker reaches the room.

"I don't think I want the normal life you suggested," Castiel says. "The wife. Children. To tell you the truth, I don't think I want sex."

"Sam noticed," says Dean. "I told him you probably had more important things on your mind. Like the army of angels out to get you."

Cas shakes his head. "I just don't…. feel the need. Hunger and sleep, those are very clear to me. But sex is no more interesting to me now than it was when I was an angel. I think I could handle going through with it, just to see what it's like, but I don't feel the need. I know that must be unfathomable to you."

"Sam said something about asexuality. I think he looked it up on the internet. Maybe that's what you are. Asexual. Seems like it comes with being an angel but there are asexual people out there, too."

Castiel is looking down into his lap, rubbing at his jeans over his knee with his hand. "Maybe Sam's right," he says.

Dean watches him in silence for a moment. "Hey," he says. "You okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"There something you not telling me, Cas?"

Castiel pauses, then takes a chance. "I've been concerned that you would lose respect for me—if I remained human and failed to develop an appetite for sex." He looks up at Dean with those piercing blue eyes. "Your respect is important to me, Dean. But I can't try to be something I'm not. That's never ended well in the past."

"Cas," says Dean, his tone a mix between admonishing and compassionate. "I don't care what you do in your private life. I respect you. You'd have to do something pretty bad to lose that respect."

"Like unleash Leviathans onto the world?"

Maybe if Dean's face wasn't so sore and swollen, he would smile or chuckle, and maybe if he did, Cas would, too. But they don't.

"I was a lot more pissed about you betraying me and lying to me than I was about those nasty sons of bitches. And I forgave you eventually."

"You always forgive," says Cas. "No matter what I do. No matter what Sam does. You forgive the unforgivable in a way I thought only God could do."

"If the only other option is walking away from you, then I don't have a choice," says Dean. "Anyway. I don't care if you have sex or don't have sex, Cas. You live any way you want. I'll be happy just to have you around."

Castiel stares at Dean's face, in awe of his friend not for the first time. He reaches out and lays his hand on the top of Dean's thigh. "Thank you," he says again, the words heartfelt. "For everything."

"Don't mention it."

"Dean?"

"Mmm."

"Do you think you'll ever have a wife? Or children?"

"I don't know," Dean says. "I used to think I wanted all that, but…. only because it looked like the only option 'sides being alone. Family's what I need, Cas. If I got you and Sam, that's enough."

Cas searches Dean's face, absorbing his friend's words. He's not sure about his perceptions when it comes to other people's unsaid thoughts and feelings, but he takes a chance. "You're allowed to have more if you want, Dean. I wouldn't leave you if you brought someone new home. I'm now certain that Sam wouldn't either."

"I'm not saying I'll never make another friend. Sure as hell not giving up sex. All I'm saying is—I don't need a romantic relationship to be happy. I never have. Every time I tried having one, it wasn't because I was looking for it. I was looking for….. someone who'd be there. For good. Without Sam, without Dad….. I didn't know what else to do. You know?"

Castiel, much to his own surprise, does know. "You're saying romantic love is nonessential to you, the way sex is nonessential to me."

Dean thinks about it a second. "Yeah. Something like that."

Cas nods. "I don't think there's anything wrong with that, Dean."

"Thanks."

"Does Sam know you feel this way?"

Dean pauses. "Sam's smart," he says. "There's not much he can't pick up about me. But I've never said to him what I just said to you."

"Maybe you should?" Castiel says. "He would understand you more, which can only make the dynamic between you better."

"I'll think about it." Dean exhales and shuts his good eye.

Castiel leaves the room to let Dean rest, smiling to himself all the way down the hall.

He has a feeling the Winchesters will be a better family than all of heaven's angels ever were.


End file.
